Stranger in two bodies
by Tarrus
Summary: Harry has always had strange things happen, so breaking the rules and ending up in another place is just par for the course right? If only he was in control of his own body. Rated M to be safe, violence, a bit of gore and coarse language. First fanfic ever, would love a beta.
1. Chapter 1

Stranger in two bodies

Weirdness is a state of being

Harry had never really been normal, even by the standards of people who wantonly distorted reality at a whim, so it really should not have come as a surprise that his attempt to emulate the greatest achievement of his fathers adolescence had turned out rather strange. Harry had taken to trying the animagus transformation simply to take his mind off the world. Ginny had been less than receptive to anything resembling a proper relationship, she seemed to think he should have handed her his vault key and simply gotten on with providing. The response from everybody else around with some few notable exceptions had also been less than sterling. Britain had near unanimously declared their personal hit wizard and all around garbage disposal man, after a few too many run ins with politicians actually backed by public opinion he'd come up with his own terms to which they had readily agreed. So he'd gone travelling, one year home, seeing to the troubles of home lest they start up a manhunt as had been threatened and one year away to do whatever he wanted, just until they found their next whipping boy.

He'd been meditating, the potion had shown him a blurry mass mixed with a multitude of sensations that he couldn't put his finger on as belonging to any single sense. Touch, smell, vision, hearing even taste had all blended. That was expected, the journey to finding your inner animal required the adaptation of the human experience to comprehend and welcome that of the animal in order to achieve even the beginnings of physical progress. Even him taking an entire extra year away from Britain and the not so subtle demands for his return, to sort the mess out wasn't any cause for concern, only some mild impatience. The reinforcement of being once again off side to the normality belonging to everybody but him, came strangely enough not in one of his meditation sessions but as he was walking along the beach in Marseilles. Something inside him had surged, it had felt as if something had uncoiled from the deepest part of his being, sprouted wings and promptly exploded roaring inside his body and consumed him in fire. Later, after being picked up by the French aurors he was told he'd been found on the beach, in a crater, surrounded by still cooling glass. This, once he'd calmed enough to think led him to the conclusion that his form must be of fire and magic.

After that incident the answers came together quickly, his magic had shifted, as it did for every witch or wizard who progressed sufficiently along the animagus path and was now undeniably more aggressive if the frightened looks he was now getting was any indication. He could now cast flame spells with so much ease and intensity that he'd accidentally managed to generate a column of fire 30 metres long and 5 metres wide when all he wanted was a small gout of flame to light a log fire, the resorts hotel manager was not pleased and had accused him of building a bomb. It also didn't help that it now felt good to use fire. The rest of the picture came from revisiting the potion induced vision. Flight was a definite, as was the sensation of continuous warmth, and the hunger was so immense he got stomach cramps recalling it. What really brought it all together however was the sight of far to large claws picking up a far, far to small deer, carrying it into the sky and then the prompt and unsatisfying single bite that followed. Harry was a dragon, an intemperate, fire breathing multi tonne flying tank of a creature with an appetite to match. Additionally he'd reached the point that his subconscious couldn't really stop trying to accommodate the difference in human and now dragon, with the beach incident, the dam in his mind separating human Harry from dragon Harry had broken. He'd already had to consciously stop himself salivating at the sight of livestock in paddocks just begging to be carried off as they instinctively bolted away from him. The easiest behaviour to hide was he now much preferred his meat somewhat more char grilled than before.

Harry needed to disappear and get a handle on just what was going on in his mind. He had already discounted the idea of getting outside help as the only known way to stop the process of loosing yourself to the animal within was to get someone else, who you trusted implicitly, to overwhelm your own mind with their own thoroughly human one whilst retaining your own identity separate to the emerging animal. That would be possible if his form wasn't a dragon, and he strongly suspected probably unnecessary considering his mental fortitude in the face of Veelas and imperios alike. If he had been any normal, non-magical animal Harry would have gotten the nearest qualified mind healer. Bound them with the multitude of oaths required and gone ahead. But the dragon was possessive, and nothing could surpass yourself as a possession and Harry couldn't help but agree. Unfortunately in one sense the dragon was already Harry, or rather of Harry, the inner reflection of any number of the facets that comprised his being, the suppressed, and the expressed rolled into one magically charged bundle of sympathetic resonance determined appropriate by his own mind. So he'd abandoned any ideas of staying near people and headed to the closest place in Europe he might go unnoticed simply for its magical reserve that included dragons, the German black forest. It took a few weeks before Harry really started having problems functioning in the outside world and was forced to hike, the dragon that already was and fast becoming him and him the dragon had started actively using magic, not in any spell per se but generating it and accumulating it. Storing it within himself in preparation for the last phase of the process, transformation.

He could feel his body radiating with it, energy, he couldn't contain it, he had tried and had caused a tree to combust when a stray strand of magic escaped him, and it hurt to contain even the slightest amount. Normally the magic would gather within a persons core, then expand in a wave which leave the person changed Successive useages of the magic would enable the person to progress the transformation as they learnt to control its spread and identify just what it was doing and consciously reapply it, at least thats what was supposed to happen. Harry was simply radiating too much magic to even try and grasp something as intricate as how his bone structure might be changing. It just wouldn't stop growing, the magic was expanding, he was in a secluded little patch of forest deep in the german black forest that he'd come across when moving away from populated locations. The amount of magic he was giving off tipped of the authorities as to his whereabouts the moment he came near anywhere with people as he'd found after he'd purchased some dragon hide clothing only to have to dodge aurors trying to stop him, so not allowing him to get a portkey or floo. So here he was, glowing like a bluebell flame on steroids, body making noises that wouldn't go amiss in a meat grinder and trying his damnedest not to give in and start torching the woods. He wouldn't have cared so much if he was in a desert as and isn't flammable but the forest provided some security from people due to its wards and in his current condition he was surprised he'd made it this far, just had to hope no other creatures found him and thought him an easy meal. Harry writhed on the ground, his form distorting and rippling his mind liquefying under the onslaught of the dragon, wisps of steam and tiny puffs of smoke came from the ground below as a tongue of flame issued from his screaming mouth, just as a swirling vortex of bright light descended from the sky.

Carried off, landing and going noticed

Harry raged, he was moving and not under his own power, all he had was a sensation of falling and blinding light, something had locked his wings in place. He belched flame, hoping to incinerate whoever was presumptuous enough to try and take a dragons flight from them. He rent the air with his claws but found nothing, his wings would not unfurl, whatever was holding them down would not let him go. So he screamed, bucked, flamed and lashed out with all the magic he could muster at the air around him. Something swatted him on the nose and he was paralysed. An amused voice filled his mind and he could do nothing but listen even as he raged and fell.

'Petulance will get you nowhere young drake, if you don't want to end up splattered over the mountains you'll stop throwing your magic up and maybe you'll start pointing it down. You can use your wings now by the way. Wonder what a dragon with a human mind and wizards core can accomplish, don't disappoint now, Manwe and I have high hopes.'

Harry's winged unfurled, and with a great blast of magic managed to still himself in the air metres from the ground. The land beneath him suffered for this, rock and tree where blasted away from his form and he gently lowered himself to the ground. Unfettered, Harry scanned the sky, looking for whatever it was that had paralysed him. Growling with smoke rising from his mouth Harry snorted at the sky, if he ever met whatever that was again, he would destroy and devour it. For now, he needed food, and preferably shelter. A small part of him urged him to find a reflective surface, he was curious as to what he looked like, an even smaller but more insistent part of him directed his mind to the likely unpopulated peaks that surrounded him. Breathing in Harry tasted the air something smelt foul, he wasn't going to sully his nose with it for any stretch of time he would find a better location to look. Decision made and with a final huff, Harry the dragon began his search for an appropriate cave, then he would hunt.

His abrupt landing had not gone unnoticed, a small party of misshapen creatures had been patrolling the mountain paths when the dragon had very nearly landed on top of them. They had immediately scrambled for safety as the drake descended, the few who had tried to run had been blown away along with most of the loose terrain as the huge black dragon had descended near gently landing on all fours despite the havoc its wings had already wrought. None dared emerge from their positions on the ground. They watched as the dragon turned its head to the sky, snorted and drew in a great breathe which caused them all to bury themselves deeper into the ground, expecting to be incinerated they were surprised when it instead promptly took flight. Slowly they emerged from the rock piles. Nag, the patrol captain shouted at his fellow orcs and lead the stampede back down the path towards Gundabad, he was not going to hang around if a dragon was on the prowl. He'd feel much safer in the ransacked dwarf hold, and he was sure the news might mean a reward. He could only hope the dragon didn't have similar ideas about the old dwarf hold.

Gandalf or Olorin as his fellow Istari knew him as was near gaping at the north, pipe hanging precariously from his lips. He'd seen a ball of fire and light illuminate the northern sky, but he'd also felt the magic, another dragon. One strong enough to send ripples of power stirring from several hundred miles at least. This would not go unnoticed even by those without sensitivity to magic, if Gandalf had seen it from here, all the way in the ruins of Lond Daer he was certain near every settlement from Florindon to Harad would soon know about it. He needed to speak with the council, and act before Sauron's shade turned his attention even more north. Two active dragons in the world, the outlook for middle earth was looking bleaker by the day, action needed to be taken soon. He could only hope this newcomer went to the northern wastes, at least until Smaug had been dealt with. But for now he had a certain dwarf to find, and a request for the Dunedain.

Expunging smells and settling in.

Harry had found and settled for a rocky outcrop not far from his original landing site. Liberal use of his flame had melted the stone into slag, fashioning a rough cave for him to inhabit until he could find a better site. He had plenty of prey in the area, deer and mountain goat in abundance populated the area. His only complaint was the smell, it came strongest from the west when the wind blew and it had made him gag the first time it had assaulted his nostrils. Old blood, excrement, rust, decay and something strange but foul underlying all the others is what wafted across the mountainous terrain every time the wind blew. It was driving him to distraction. It was getting to the point were he was seriously considering eradicating whatever it was from existence.

Day's past and Harry hunted, the hunger never truly abated, something was missing that simple prey could not fulfil, so instead he flew for the pleasure of flying. It was on one of his flights that he ventured to the west, he had so far avoided it due to the pungent odour but his curiosity lead him to soaring high above the peaks and through the clouds. Directly to the south was a great expanse of forest, even high in the clouds Harry could not see its end, it was covered in some sort of haze that made depth perception difficult. To his south east, a solitary peak sat alone in the foot hills edging to the plains that stretched beyond it. But due west, wedged between the mountain peaks he currently inhabited and another greater chain that extended north to South was a fortress. By human standards it would have been impressive albeit in disrepair, tall towers situated ontop of the mountains that connected the mountain chains, and in the one narrow depression that cut the connection between the chains a solid looking tower made from metal and stone. Dropping to a lower height he could make out shapes milling around its base, and on its exposed surfaces. They seemed humanoid but the few he could make out on the overlooking towers where decidedly not of any species he had ever encountered, and the small bits of the language they were using that he could hear sent several unpleasant sensations through his body. The voice in the back of his head urged him to turn back east, he was getting noticeably hungry and there was deer to be had. Just as he was about to turn away the smell hit him. Its disgusting odour was several times worse here than anywhere before. Eyes narrowing at the oblivious creatures below he folded his wings and dove. One way or another, these creatures would be stopped from continuing to irritate him. Dragons did not tolerate irritants.

Nag had been busy protecting his grog from the other orcs with his cleaver, his reward for being the first to bring news about the dragon, when the roof exploded. It caved in with a boom that sent him tumbling from his seat in the lookout post, it was only this that spared his life. Immediately following the roof was an inferno that poured from the sky into the room and incinerated most of the orcs that had been trying to murder him that hadn't been crushed by the destroyed ceiling. From his position on the floor he could hear screams, yells and more sounds of breaking masonry followed by a great beating noise. Scrambling to where the window had been Nag had to grip the broken stonework as a shudder ran through the tower. Swearing in the black speech Nag caught site of the cause. The dragon had come back, and it was destroying everything it could find. Its form was huge, it towered above the lookout tower its wings beating slowly as it hovered. Its glowing green eyes regarded him before its black scaled hide rippled as it opened its mouth to reveal teeth longer than a warg, the last thing Nag ever saw was his flagon of grog disappearing in the fire as the world turned orange then black.

The insects were trying to shoot him, with arrows. He would have laughed if there weren't so many of the damn things. He kept strafing the fort with fire, gouging holes in its sides and flattening any groups of the damn things with his tail but still they kept coming, he'd been surprised to see that they kept oversized dogs as pets which had promptly ran in terror at the site of him. Also they had seemingly domesticated several larger rather brutish looking things that didn't have the sense to run and made satisfying crunching noises when he smacked them. So far he'd already taken care of the mountain top towers, they were little more than cooling slag and broken stone. The fort proper though was proving more difficult. The little creatures were running everywhere, he was having trouble making sure they all burned. More of the things were shooting at him from the windows and ledges of the fort. Spying what must be the main door he charged it. It wasn't enough to even mildly impede him. Bursting through in a shower of rotten wood and broken stone he promptly set about filling the place with fire. With swipes of his claws he demolished walls and swatted the insects. The creatures were running from him now, not outside though, but further in, he could smell and hear more below getting further away from him. A cave system perhaps? Several of the larger creatures were running for him wielding hammers and long spears. With a growl he promptly snared one in his mouth and bit down. Retching in disgust, he promptly spat it out and let loose a roar that shook the ground and proceeded to smash the rest to bloody pulp and reduce the corpses to ashes. This place was now his and none of these foul things would survive.

It took him another day before he was satisfied that he'd scoured or rather scorched the place clean of any lingering evidence of the previous inhabitants. Harry was happy, he'd found the caves to be far more well made than the ruin, albeit the ruin of his own making up above. Even his size did not hinder him as much as he thought it would and with some careful digging he was sure he could enlarge it further. What really pleased him however was the cache he had discovered. He'd come across it after chasing down the last few of the insects, a large room that he could open his wings fully in and not touch the sides. It had also had the strongest door he'd found. It had taken a full minute before it had given way. It had contained several chests behind a raised stone chair and the chests had contained precious metals and gems. He was fascinated by the tiny shirt of metal he'd found, it smelt and felt wonderful. The rest made him feel good to look at but the metal of the shirt had been his first taste of magic in this place, it was proof that there was magic here and it sparked his curiosity to heights greater than his hunger. If he focused he could practically taste it, the magic. His one lament right now was he had so little, perhaps the creatures had other places like this? Perhaps they had more, more things or even people with magic. The not so little anymore voice in his head suggested a not impossible idea, perhaps if he changed he could even wear the magic shirt, and therefore be surrounded by its magic. For now though he had a new home to remodel to better reflect his own grandeur, then he would make sure no one could steal what was his.

All eyes on you, Harry.

The agents of the enemy had outpaced him but not enough to end Durins line. He'd heard tell of Thorin working as a smith for men in Bree, and hastened to find him. On the way he'd had to deal with no less than three parties of brigands and vagabonds, each with orders written in the black speech to dispose of Thorin. Now that he was in Bree he was keeping a protective vigil over the unknowing dwarf and waiting for his chance to speak with him. He knew Thorin would agree to any attempt to retake Erebor and end Smaug, but there was no help to be had without the arkenstone. He only hoped the presence of the other dragon did not hamper his plans.

Thranduil had taken to pacing his throne room, he'd already doubled the guard, sent armed couriers to both Rivendell and Lorien, and forbidden Legolas from travelling further than a 20 mile radius away from the centre of the woodland realm. Fingering the glamour covered injury even as the pain of its inception echoed in his memory Thranduil contemplated the new Wyrm. Reports suggested it was confining itself to the grey mountains, due north of his domain. Was it in league with the remnants of Angmar, or perhaps it had tired of the bland inhospitable conditions of the Forodwaith. Thranduil did not think it likely that another Wyrm should appear scant decades after Smaug descended upon Erebor without purpose. His scouts had told him it was black and appeared smaller than the estimates of Smaug but not by much, living in a realm comprised near entirely of forest thranduil felt vulnerable. Whilst this new wyrm was active he could not afford to relax vigilance. Any move south would mean martial law for the woodland realm, the stirrings from Dol Guldur and the increasingly aggressive menace that was Ungoliants brood may prompt such a course anyway. For now he'd keep his borders closed and wait for word from the other elf lords, they might provide useful advice.

Galadriel was puzzled, her mirror showed her the new dragon, but the dragon was not behaving as she would expect. It had spent a great deal of time hunting as active Wyrms do, it had even created itself a rudimentary lair which she had carefully noted the location of. But what confused her was that it had raised the fortress of Gundabad, a fortress that she had thought abandoned until she had seen the battle for herself. She did not know why the dragon had attacked, dwarves hoarded vast stores of precious metals which dragons coveted, but Gundabad, although once a dwarf hold had long been sacked. Dragons did not normally turn on the creatures of darkness and the Yrch posed little threat to a fire drake unless in overwhelming numbers. A dragon might absentmindedly kill a few for daring to intrude on their territory but not with any form of the systematic determination that this black drake had shown. As she looked into the mirror she could not help second guess all she knew about dragons as she watched it slowly inspect a mithril shirt, disregarding the meagre store of gold and gems the deceased Yrch commander had hoarded. Celeborn had already been notified regarding the know dispersed Yrch force and a message had been dispatched to Thranduil. Galadriel turned from the mirror, the white council would need to be informed.

Laketown was abuzz with talk of the new dragon, fear had gripped the town. Smaug's attack upon Erebor was well remembered and his presence was felt as a shadow even as they carried on. But Smaug had not emerged from the mountain in decades, the new drake might rouse him. That would spell disaster, they could not apply to the elves for help, thranduil had closed his borders. Only barrels came out of the woods, and only wine went back in. Rohan and Gondor would not take them in without due cause. The dwarfs of the iron hills had not been seen since Erebor fell. No assistance could be counted on. Should Smaug or this new drake come, they would be on their own. Despite all this the town continued on as normal, the leaders of the town assured them that Smaug would not rouse, the new drake would not come south. Perhaps they were right? Few wanted to admit to the possibilities to the contrary.

Dol Guldur was a hive of carefully hidden activity. Its forges rang across day and night never resting, protected by the same veil of magic that concealed the growing army within its weathered walls. Wargs wrestled in their pits urged on by orcs as trolls pulled great loads of ore to the forges. Giant spiders hid in the dark corners spinning webs, feasting on any orc stupid enough to wander into their embrace. The sorcery that encompassed and concealed Dol Guldur in a careful illusion even from the elf witch was tethered to a shade, the disembodied remnant of Sauron. The essence of Sauron had latched itself to this place, providing the energy to fuel the veil as he accumulated his strength by siphoning a fragment of the life of the creatures below into himself and returning a dark, twisted sliver of shadow in its place, empowering his own minions and poisoning the greenwood. The wraiths attended him, spirits liberated from their sealed crypts by the blood sacrifice of his agents. Too weak to remain corporeal for long, they like their master had tethered themselves to the structure of Dol Guldur, but rather than its entirety they flitted between its statues, silent and watchful. Sauron paused in his working, his attention diverted to the new drake. This was no creation of Morgoth, the magic it had spewed forth only a few days ago had told him that much, it carried none of the taint that was imbued in everyone of the first dark lords creations, and his own. It felt in part, strangely like the Numenorians but with a spice to its magic that Sauron had only felt in a scant few elves. Two dragons, one different to the rest of Morgoths creations and both all the unbridled destructive potential he could hope for in a vanguard. Perhaps he should accelerate his plans, after he had finished his working against the greenwood, and after he had broken the pitiful remnant of Durins line. Without Durins line, the arkenstone had no clear claimant, and the dwarves would remain fragmented, the contingent on its way to Gundabad would ensure victory, when the time came.

Shrinking pains, stepping out.

Harry was not happy, the insects were back and they'd brought a lot of friends. He was circling above the peaks watching the long contingent snake its way towards his home. There were a lot of them, thousands if he was any judge, and they were packing some far more serious armament than spears and bows. He could take the fight to them whilst they were exposed but that many would pose a serious problem even for him, he was not happy to admit it but there was no escaping the fact. Thinking over the problem, he wanted to return to his new domain and let them come but reason stated that would be suicide. He was loathe to admit it but perhaps it was time to think like a human rather than a dragon. Focusing inward, he allowed the other him to asses the situation. He didn't like what it suggested, but there really was little else that he could come up with. He hadn't lost his sense of self preservation after all.

The wargs were getting antsy, every mile closer to Gundabad they became more unruly and Darsh had already lost three handlers to the blasted things. Swearing at his other orcs he laid about him with his whip to encourage the worthless worms to hurry up. Darsh would be the next one dead if the wargs didn't get moving, the commander would have his head and feed him to the bloody things if he failed. This carried on for several hours, slowly the wargs obeyed the lash, helped along by the deaths of another 4 handlers and the serious maiming of another. Darsh had maimed the runt personally in order to show the commander he was still useful, and thus buy himself some extra time. They had left the foothills sometime ago and had entered the mountain canyon that led to Gundabad, Darsh could smell smoke, they must be getting close. Another hour later and Darsh nearly lost his arm as the wargs simply dug their heels in and stopped, they were looking to the sky and growling. Liberal use of the lash and his barbed spear did little to get them moving again. Panicking he redoubled his efforts when he noticed the column had stopped entirely. He would not be killed simply because some bloody dogs didn't like being in the mountains. Darsh didn't look away from the warg he was facing down when the horn sounded, he did however look up when the roar shook the canyon. Darsh was dead moments later, you do not take your eyes off an agitated warg when it is barely a metre from you, even when there's a dragon.

Grudgingly Harry implemented the voices plan, he'd reached for the ball of human magic hidden inside the flame that comprised his own. He'd let the voice guide him in its use and felt it take hold. He could no longer hear himself. Skirting the canyon path, careful to stay out of sight he went along with the plan. Take a boulder, move it to the lip of the canyon path, repeat on both sides until the majority of the column entered the canyon. He was tempted to tell the voice to go away and let him flame the little creatures, but it was insistent. He was getting impatient. Boulders were in position, the insects moved agonisingly slow along the ground, it took another hour of sluggish movement before he couldn't stand the tedium anymore. Letting loose a challenge, he launched himself from the cliff-side and dove for the mouth of the canyon. Maybe a taste of his flame would hurry the creatures up.

The column halted as one and stared at the sky. The roar had been far too close and shaken the canyon under them with its strength, Screams rent the air as the rumbling did not subside, but this time the cause was all too clear. Boulders, larger than trolls were falling upon them. The column lost its cohesion, boulders bounced and rolled, crushing orcs by the dozen. The wargs were howling, snapping at their handlers as they fought to control them. Trolls bellowed and stumbled, confused at the noises and rumbling of the ground. Silence briefly befell the army as a gust of wind barreled down the canyon, extinguishing every torch and sending many off their feet. Light bloomed from the mouth of the canyon and another roar rent the air. The wargs bolted, stampeding handlers and tossing riders. The trolls tried stood idle, still unsure. The orcs were panicking. A horn echoed from the head of the column, punctuated by several short blasts. Order came back to the column as horns took up the call. Enemy, attack. Flames and screams roared from the mouth of the canyon. Bellowed orders rang through the canyon. "GET THE BALLISTAS UP! OR I'LL PERSONALY GUT YOU WITH YOUR OWN KNIFE!." The wind came again, sending many to the ground. A shadow against the sky was briefly illuminated in another gout of flame. The orcs scrambled, prodding the trolls into lifting the ballistas off their carts. In the minutes it took to get the first assembled, several dozen more flames raked the sides of the canyon incinerating scores of orcs, wargs and trolls. The dragon landed in the canyon, a foot perched over a boulder as it brought a claw down on four trolls, turning them to paste. The first ballista fired, its bolt struck the dragons flank. Startled the dragon reared, its head swivelled, found the culprit and let loose with its flame. More bolts came from the dark masses, the dragons scales held firm, but forced it airborne with a frustrated shriek.

He circled the canyon, he had blocked both entrance and exit. The creatures however where climbing the rocks even as he spoke, some were even braving the cliffs themselves. He would not allow them to escape. No matter what the voice urged him to do. Lining up at the northern end of the canyon, he tucked his wings, dove and let loose a long stream of flame. Orange and blue flame filled the stretch of canyon he passed over. Screams followed, and bolts whistled past. Grumbling at the attempts to shoot him, he lined up another pass. They were getting better at aiming. Several bolts came extremely close to hitting on that last pass. The voice came back, in that petulant tone that indicated it would not go away until he listened. It urged him to use more of the human magic, to become unseen, not simply unheard. He dove, again and again, ignoring the voice. It wasn't until a bolt scratched under his eye that he gave in. He sought altitude. The canyon was alight, corpses burning adding to the light the relit torches were giving off. Lost in the night sky, he reached inward, felt past the flame and again let the voice guide him. He shuddered, the magic was cold, he couldn't use his flame or the magic would break. He felt weakened by the magic, but he could not see himself, only a strange shimmer, not unlike a ripple in the water. Again, he dove for the canyon path, talons poised.

Pandemonium, sheer and utter chaos described the early morning hours of the canyon path. Orc bodies flew into the air from unseen assailants. Trolls found themselves flattened against the walls of the canyon as a tail they could not see swatted. Carts were tipped and crushed. No roars, no flame, no rushing wind heralded the new destruction being wrought. The wargs had long since run, scrambling desperately up the cliff sides or over the rocks blocking the path. The ballistas were splintered and shattered. When dawn broke, devastation was the testament of the nights activities. The canyon was strewn with ash and corpses. The threat had been dealt with, the dragon had left, only carrion eaters inhabited the path, attracted by the unforeseen bounty.

The dragon stumbled, knocking over a pillar as it returned to its subterranean lair. The magic, the human magic refused to give way to the flame. He felt as if he had aged a thousand years in just one night. His strength was waning, making his way to his small hoard, the dragon carefully plucked the shirt from its resting place. Seeking solace in its unblemished enchantment. He lost his footing and came to the floor with a crash that shook the fortress ruin up above. He staggered back to his feet. The flame was dimming, smothered. The human magic was growing, rippling through his body in agonising waves. Curse the voice! Had he the strength he would tear it from his mind if he only knew how. Body wracked with pain the dragon drew one long deep breath and let loose the last of its flame in one long stream that melted a broken pillar to slag. He closed his eyes and let his consciousness fade, the room was rent with the sound of bone snapping and pulverising flesh. Harry keeled over into the raised stone chair as the change was completed. Groaning, he held the chainmail shirt to his chest and allowed the pain to take him into sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Hello lovely people who are kind enough to read my attempts at storytelling

I've made it back to this story, hopefully I have improved since I started.

Apologies for the large delay in my uploads, as my profile mentions I spend vast amounts of time working away from home.

Note on my SW crossover for those interested, it's not dead, the above comment applies regrettably.

As always, big thankyou's to Eurospawn for being kind enough to beta for me.

That in mind, read, review, please enjoy and as always, tell me why you flame. I am always looking to improve.

Tarrus

Stranger in Two bodies-chapter 2

 **Step into the sun**

All was quiet in the fortress. No sentries kept watch, and no birds made their homes in its tallest points. Because of this, Nibenor kept his bow in hand, seeking comfort in its familiarity. He was scoping the fortress for signs of the dragon. The canyon path had borne testament to its capacity for violence. Ash still swirled in the breeze and the cliffsides had been turned black in large sections. Carrion eaters still picked over the bones. But here, at its apparent lair, nothing. It had been several weeks since the creature had first been seen and two days since the canyon path rampage, they had seen the light from its flame from several miles away. The ruin itself bore the scars of its attack, large sections of stone were simply missing from its sides, scorch marks dotted its surface and the complete absence of the frontal door save for a smattering of splinters and rubble completed the tale.

His fellows were hunting the yrch and wargs that had escaped in an effort to delay the news of the armies destruction from spreading. So here he was, alone, tasked with keeping a disturbingly quiet dragons lair under observation. In all his young seven hundred and forty three years he had only heard tales of Morgoths shock troops. If even a third of them were true, he would not wish to contend with such a beast. Thranduil had tasked this watch to him and his fellows, he would perform this duty as he had every other. A slight noise caused his ears to prick, Nibenor crouched behind the scree ledge, whistled a warning and notched an arrow. Something was moving, something inside the ruined dwarf hold.

Harry was trying to remember the way out. He was still feeling weak from the transition and the dragon weighed on his mind even as it slumbered. So stumbling, he passed through room after room, and passage after passage, always heading upwards when he could, and only going down when he had no other choice. It was cold in the ruins and dark, forcing him to grope along the walls. He remembered the dragon using its flame to allow its eyes to pierce the darkness, but if he touched the ember, it might rouse. If he reached for his own magic to light the way he might keel over from exhaustion and wake up a dragon again. So stumbling along the tunnels, he felt his way upwards.

By Harry's reckoning it felt like hours. He was hungry, and only his falling face first into a water sluice had staved off his thirst. Eventually the floors changed from stretches of hardened earth to stone tiles. And shortly after, light filtered from above in jagged shafts. He took in the scene, stone masonry littered the floors in large chunks, forcing him to climb over in places or look for other ways around. Holes in the ceiling and cracks in the walls let sunlight bleed through. The dragon had blocked most approaches with rubble to secure itself from being surrounded and if cornered it could always break through another wall. Harry trudged onwards, determined to get outside and hopefully get some clue as to getting some food and possibly locating other humans.

The elves that comprised the rest of Nibenors group had quickly converged on him in response to his whistle. All eyes and senses were on the ruin. The noise was progressively getting louder, and was now identifiable as steps. Steps that definitely did not belong to a dragon. It was close to the destroyed gateway, as one, the elves readied their bows and sighted on the entrance. Whatever yrch had hidden itself from the dragon would not escape them. A shadow approached the threshold, seven arrows tracked its movements, willing it to reveal itself. A young human in peculiar garb stepped out from the rubble and gazed up at the sun. Stunned, the elves lowered their bows. Nibenor looked to the parties leader, Lagoron. One very quiet and rushed conversation later, Nibenor found himself gracefully sliding down the scree embankment as five bows tracked the human and another kept watch on the sky.

Harry had known that the place was a fortress but as a dragon his sense of size was heavily skewed. So he couldn't but help be impressed that the damage done to the fortress before him had indeed been done by him. It would have taken an army of thousands to breach this place using conventional means, that is the means available to a medieval army. Preoccupied with scrutinising the fortress he very nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice whispered in his ear. He did jump, but rather than out of his skin he accidentally slammed his head backwards and collided with something solid. He heard a crunch followed by a muffled cry. The next thing he registered was a pain in his left arm before he was whipped around and forced to the ground. All Harry saw before a bag was put over his head was an aristocratic face with a bloody nose and an arrow shaft in his arm.

As soon as Nibenor arched back in pain, Lagoron loosed his arrow. It took the man in the arm, forcing him away from Nibenor. Careful to utilise his elvish gifts he quickly descended the slope and rushed to the scene. Nibenor had the human pinned and had already covered his head with a bag. He noted the man was already unconscious as he retrieved his arrow, such a frail species, at least he wouldn't make any noise. They would take the human back for interrogation as to how it escaped the dragons notice. Carrying the human between them, they silently carried him to the lookout position. Allowing Nibenor a minute to cleanse his face, Lagoron ordered Niberon and one of the other elves to escort the man back. The rest of them would maintain the vigil. Several hours after the two elves and captive in tow had departed, he passed the watch and gave thanks, the limited commotion had not disturbed the dragon

 **Forest Paths**

He was holding on to himself, barely. Thankfully the bag had been removed after what felt like an hour stumbling. Harry had endured a full day's march, at times being carried, others prodded along with a blade to his spine, or on the few merciful stops he'd sat with under the supervision of notched bows. His captors appeared human, despite the apparent difference between his own physical state and theirs. They didn't even seem winded and they had been trekking through countryside for hours. Something itched at his senses though, whenever they got to close. They felt, somehow different to his senses. Wherever they were taking him, he hoped it wasn't much further. Every jolt from his bruised feet, every ache from his tired muscles, and every prod from a blade, registered somewhere in his mind that he could not be sure was wholly his.

Nibenor concealed his impatience with the human. Had he been travelling unhindered he and his fellow hunter could have covered an extra ten miles in the time it took to rest enough for the human to recover. He had given the youth lembas bread and water, he had nothing he could offer for his feet though. The youth was prisoner, it was not impossible for the drake to have made a thrall of this man and he would not take any risk. Lagoron had been quite explicit in that regard. It would take another six hours at the current pace but they would reach the forest before midnight, then wait until dawn to enter. Mirkwood as the forest was called now was treacherous, particularly at night.

Hary's feet felt well and truly dead by the time they stopped again, he had seen the forest from the foot hills. Up close it looked just as hazy to the eye as from a distance. Large, twisted trees seemed to form a tight boundary to any attempts to see deeper within their bows. They had stopped for the night, just within the tree line, his escort had unrolled what looked to be sleeping mats and had passed him some more of that strange bread and water. He had tried to talk to them, but every time they had either urged him along faster, or they had simply ignored him. The taller of the two would occasionally give him strange looks, he couldn't figure out if they were hostile or not. The shorter, though they were both taller than himself, ignored him completely apart from when it was his turn to guard him. Harry felt numb, he couldn't feel the aches though he was sure they were still there. His feet had stopped hurting, though they had bruised and swollen quite markedly since the days start. He was exhausted, leaning back on an exposed root, he quickly fell asleep.

He awoke to pain, and a blade poking him in the side. The tallest of his guards was standing over him, poking him with a short dagger. Groaning Harry rolled onto his side and tried to stand. His feet rebelled and he collapsed. His guard made several angry noises before grabbing him under the arm and lifting. Staggering, this time Harry kept his feet, though he swayed dangerously once the guard had stepped back. The other was missing, probably gone to find others. If he had the energy, Harry would have tried to escape, as it was, all he could think off was lying back down. The guard snorted at him and pushed him. Unable to keep his balance, he toppled backwards, and against a tree. Clutching at the tree he remained upright and gave the guard a filthy look. But the guard had moved away and was looking into the woods. Slowly, Harry carefully reached for his magic. It had recovered somewhat, perhaps enough to attempt a spell. He had no wand, he would need to put all his focus into this, and it would leave him feeling even more exhausted after. Bracing against the tree, Harry lifted his arm and pointed at the guards back. Focusing, he coaxed the magic into his hand and cast. "Petrificus Totalus."

The guard had started to turn at the noise, but the spell did not miss. Within him a brief flush of warmth invigorated his legs. Frozen mid turn, the guard toppled to the forest floor. With the amount of magic he'd used, the spell would not last for long. Wasting no time, Harry took the water skin and two leaf wrapped bread portions and slowly hobbled into the forest. He would be easy pickings outside of its concealing foliage. If he could find a path, it may lead him away from whatever settlement these people came from. So stumbling, tripping and wanting to simply lie down and sleep, Harry made his way away from the campsite. He wouldn't have much time to get away, the other guard could return with friends at any moment.

Harry did not know how long he'd spent in the forest, there was nothing to indicate what time of day it was, or even what direction he was going. He paused once, after what felt like hours of scrabbling through the forest floor before he risked falling asleep. He awoke, and it was still day, grudgingly, Harry continued onward. The trees quickly seemed to press in on him, he couldn't see beyond the nearest few, the haze had thickened in the trees. It was warm, at times he thought he heard running water, but he could not find it. Harry was lost, he could not find a path. Minutes ago, or was it hours? A horn had sounded somewhere in the forest, behind him or ahead of him, he could not tell. Panting from the exertion, he dragged himself over one last tree root, only to find a discarded leaf wrapper, covered in crumbs. It took him far longer than it should have to realise he had traveled in a circle, there was the rock he'd slept beside. Frustrated and feeling well and truly helpless, Harry laughed. He couldn't help it. He was stuck in a medieval world, exhausted with little magic, and a blasted dragon that had already taken over his body once before residing in his soul. Thats how the elves, lead by his other guard, found him, a young human male clad in only a strange pair of scaled pants and jacket laughing hysterically beside an eaten lembas packet. They were quick to reapply a bag over his head.

 **Elf Lords, strange magic**

Thranduil pondered the the frozen body laid out on the stretcher before him. Such magic was beyond his experience. The scout was alive, he could feel that his light had not faded. None of the healers had been able to lift the curse however. The magic that clung to the scout was foreign to him, it felt slippery yet strangely it clung to its victim. The sorcerer in his dungeon had done this. There was no telling what other magicks the human knew. Adding to the problem was the humans connection to the drake at Gundabad., which had yet to reappear. Was it sleeping like Smaug, or perhaps biding its time? The human knew more than he did, and that frustrated him. Elrond had sent word that the white council was meeting to discuss the problems besetting his realm. Typically, the word from Lothlorien had been less than helpful, keep watch. Turning from the frozen form beneath him Thranduil allowed the healers to keep trying. As soon as the prisoner had regained consciousness he would be brought to him. Whatever magic this human possessed, he would not be able to contest an elf lord in his own realm.

Regaining consciousness on a stone floor is not the most comfortable of experiences. Especially when your whole body feels like one giant bruise. But that was what welcomed Harry back to the waking world. He had dreamed, dreamed of fire. Even now, lying in the dark he could see the flame in his minds eye. It beckoned to him, small, gentle, begging to be freed so that it could grow and chase the darkness away. Tearing his thoughts from the flame he focused. He couldn't see, the darkness was all encompassing. The stone was hard and cold, the air tasted of mold and dust. Gingerly sitting up, Harry listened. Water in the distance, and at times voices. Feeling around a hand brushed wood, a bucket. Finding the wall he stood, legs and feet protesting the movements. It took moments to feel his way to what must be the door, the only section of wall that did not feel of sheer stone. He had been imprisoned. Without his wand and in his current state he couldn't free himself. Sighing, Harry sunk to floor, resting his feet. The flame beckoned to him, the sentience within promising freedom, now and always, he only had to reach for it. Harry curled into a ball and tried to ignore it.

The voices were getting louder, people were coming towards him. His door was thrown open and Harry was blinded. Throwing his hands up to shield his face he was promptly shackled and dragged out of his cell. Blinking the spots from his eyes, Harry looked upon his captors as they hauled him to his feet. He couldn't help but note the pointed ears poking slightly out of their hair. They were both of fair features, he would have thought them aristocrats if they weren't dressed in what looked to be cotton and leather. Taking in his surroundings the walls were stone and earth, underground then with tree roots breaking through the ceiling and walls in several places. Two more guards were waiting for him, spears lowered. Gulping back his fear, Harry let them lead him along several corridors and up a series of steps and ramps. They passed into a large cavern, more guards dotted the area, all leading up a central ramp that looked to be made from a tree root. At the top, waiting was a wooden throne. His escort prodded him up the ramp and forced him to kneel head bowed before the throne.

People were moving, he could hear them though all he could see was the moss and wood he was kneeling on, courtesy of his guard. People were passing, he could see their feet. A stretcher was deposited before him, and on it was the guard he'd petrified. Swallowing nervously he was unprepared for his guard to release his hold on his head and be pushed towards the stretcher, but also onto the ground. Struggling back into a kneeling position he looked up. The throne was occupied, a very stern, crown wearing being was regarding him coldly.

"You will release him from your curse, Wyrm thrall. Or you will die."

Ultimatum given, Thranduil looked the human over. Strange scaled clothing covered his upper and lower body. He appeared frail, that is more so than most of human kind. The dragon had marked him, it was clear for any who had the skill to see. His presence reeked of Wyrm, both in smell and presence, power most likely a boon from the dragon gave the youths eyes a slight glow. A pity that one with an aptitude for the arcane would be so corrupted by a dragon, humans, so weak willed. He watched as the human bent over the scout, and placed both hands upon his chest and began quietly chanting. Intrigued Thranduil leant forward and observed. The light that was the scouts life was brightening in pulses, seemingly in response to the chant. It was slowly driving the foreign magic away, its foreign feel giving way to the familiar life presence. It took a full ten minutes for the magic to be purged whereupon the scout sat bolt upright. Gesturing for a healer, Thranduil ordered him to the healers hall. Addressing the clearly fatigued human before him, Thranduil began his interrogation.

"Wyrm thrall, you will tell me about the dragon at Gundaband, then you will tell me who taught you that magic. Lie and you will be returned to the dungeon. Attempt any magic and you will be cut down."

At this last comment, Thranduil gestured to the surrounding guards. Before he could continue, the main doors opened and despite the guards protests a blonde elf walked through. Thranduil smiled down at his son, internally promising to press the importance of following his instruction more firmly into his sons mind.

 **A dangerous thought**

Harry gazed up at the reclining figure, a king if the crown was anything to go by, his demand, no, ultimatum had stirred the ember in his mind. Heat was beginning to pool in his chest, tugging at his heart, a _yearning_ slowly unfolding from within him. Dropping his head to look at the cool grass twined between his fingers. Harry, struggling to come up with a believable story, fought to keep his voice only his:

"I was schooled in magic a vast distance from here. I can only tell you that the dragon came here unexpectedly."

Eyes squeezed shut, Harry tried to ignore the taste of smoke in the back of his mouth as the apparent ruler of these subterranean people leaned forward in his throne to again address him:

"You expect me to believe that you know nothing of the drake? You where observed leaving its lair unharmed. You have also used your magic, magic that you admit to having been taught, on my soldiers, for that alone I would see you excecuted. Do not presume upon my patience further, thrall. Tell me of your master and you will at least receive food and water."

Flinching less at the tone of the kings address and more at the surge in heat up his throat. Harry desperately began centering his thoughts, pushing the surging alien mind away, fighting the urge to draw heavily upon his own magic. The impatient tapping of fingers on wood drew his attention back to his audience, an audience that had grown by a new arrival, now stationed at the kings right hand beside the throne. Whereas the king radiated a cold grimness and severe disapproval, there was a degree of curiosity in the visibly younger newcomer. Eyeing the reclining figure, Harry risked a small tug on his magic as the newcomer spoke up:

"Father, how could this human, pose such a risk to us, even with his apparent magic."

Using the reprieve to further coax his magic and smother the sparks resting in his throat. Harry took several deep breaths, grateful for the sensation of coolness pooling in his gut he tuned out the impending dressing down of the blonde prince-ling:

"Legolas, this is not the time for your foolish compassion, this wyrm thrall is no better than the yrch, if it was not for the information he possesses I would have already had him shot. Additionally, your continued disregard for my instructions leaves me little choice but to confine you to the inner forest paths until I deem you ready."

Blatantly dismissing the wide-eyed prince, the king turned his attention back to Harry expectantly. Hoping he had everything back under control, Harry again began to talk his way out even as he started to visualise the ruined fortress he had come from.

"My Lord, the dragon came from the north..."

He couldn't help the tremor that wracked his body as the, thing, within him blazed in fury after addressing the king as my lord. The small tug on his magic had for Harry turned into a desperate clinging as the ember erupted in outrage and indignation. Panicked shouts briefly penetrated his mind as he smelt burning grass beneath him and his hands twisted into a grotesque mimicry of claws.

Hands grabbed his convulsing form and ropes again found there way around his ankles and wrists. Crying out, Harry thrashed in his new bonds as the fiery tempest sought to erode his flagging self control. Fire erupted in a brief gout from his mouth and the last thing he remembered before he risked all in a hurried apparition was a thought that skittered across his brain, a thought he was hard pressed to deny.

 _We shall bow to none_


	3. Chapter 3

Hello all, thankyou for the messages and reviews you've left in my absence.

Reading through them has been a real pleasure and highly instructional, please keep them coming

Read, review, please enjoy and a shoutout to Eurospawn for their continued patient beta work

Here's hoping I get ontop of my time management soon

Tarrus

Stranger in two bodies-chapter 3

 **Yours, mine, ours?**

Both Harry's body and mind, _burned_ , as great wings unfurled from within. Tearing through frail scale flecked flesh, forcing Harry to his knees, straining against the hide of his jacket and being forced down the length of his back . Bloody tears left smoking trails down his cheeks as his left eye bulged and pressed against its socket. Agony cascaded from every nerve, greater than any cruciatus as he collapsed under the pain. A talon burst from a finger, scoring a thin trail of blood along his face before Harry reflexively yanked his hand away. His screams reverberated around the stone hall as the dragon road rampant. Resistance to the change was meaningless in the face of the inferno consuming him from within. Desperate, Harry _dove_ , into his magic and sought to confound the beast, as his body warped and twitched on the rapidly warming stone floor.

Ice trickled over his body and numbed his mind as he sought to undo, the fluctuating changes. The all too brief waves of respite allowed him to gulp lungfuls of air before the fire again took hold. Throat raw from screaming, Harry pleaded with the entity within him. No words were exchanged, simply feeling. Outrage, indignation and an all consuming desire to inflict pain upon the world swamped his mind. In return Harry road the towering flames, the desire to understand, to calm and simply rest floating throughout the maelstrom.

Peace descended abruptly, and Harry was cut from all physical sensation as the flames began to welcome Harry within them in response as he was almost gently drawn into his mind. The towers of flame in his mind did not quieten, but neither did they continue to intensify as he passed into himself. A great shadow circled Harry's mind presence, twisting amongst the pillars of flame, always just out of sight, a leviathan inspecting a life raft. Wind roughly tugged at Harry, threatening to cast him adrift from his vessel, he felt rather than heard the words in the gusts as the shadow encompassed him:

 _You have come_

Nervously, Harry put aside the desire to withdraw and held his ground:

"I need to understand."

Irritation sparked at him as the darkened flames flickered around him:

 _You already know_

Not willing to confront the truth of that statement, Harry continued:

"What do you want?"

The force behind the resultant gale nearly threw Harry back out of his mind-scape, briefly allowing a trickle of the physical pain his body was in to register:

 _FREEDOM_

Once Harry had repaired his hold and blocked his bodies demands, he mustered his defiance before addressing the entity:

"I won't let you run unchecked, this is my body."

The shadow deepened as the world trembled around him, rage and fury, underscored by disappointment threw him into the physical world. Even as the dragon withdrew.

Opening his eyes, he gazed upon the bright as day ceiling above him, Harry, leaden arm protesting, brought a hand up in front of his eyes. Talon like extensions flexed as he wiggled his fingers, scales, a deep black seemed to glisten in contrast to the dull green of his jacket sleeve. Too tired and stunned to do more, Harry closed his eyes. The last message of the dragon singing in tune with his bodies aches:

 _What is yours, is MINE, ours._

 **Unpleasant duty**

Nibenor had returned from Mirkwood immediately after delivering the thrall. He had just finished delivering Thranduils orders to Lagoron before the sound of screams, faint as from a great distance, or perhaps deepness came from the ruins. Fear of what the noises would foreshadow gripped the troupe immediately and a flurry of activity saw the elves dousing their small fire and taking up more concealed positions, blending into the nights darkness. Heart in his mouth, Nibenor whispered to Lagoron for orders:

"Captain, orders?"

The paler than normal face of Lagoron regarded him with an almost stricken look as he crumpled the despatches Nibenor had given him from Thranduil. Whilst Lagoron kept his voice strong, the undercurrent of fear was easily picked up by the entirety of the troupes members:

"Lord Thranduil has tasked us with discerning the nature of the wyrm, we are to enter Gundabad before the drake wakes and carry all information back to Mirkwood."

Swallowing thickly at the task and likely now roused status of the wyrm, Nibenor turned his attention back to the rapidly weakening noise coming from the ruins. In that moment he wanted nothing more than for the screams to cease and he offered a prayer to the Valar that the drake was yet still dormant. With far more care than normal, the troupe, minus the two youngest who had been elected to stay behind for fear of any yrch that may yet remain, silently descended the slope in darkness not daring to risk bringing a lighted torch until they had crossed the expanse, each elf held their weapon tightly clasped.

They entered through a great tear in the outer walls and slowly scaled the strange hills of debris that blocked much of the main hall, picking their way to the far end, senses on high alert. With trepidation they approached the grand vaulted doorway, that would take them into the depths of the old dwarf settlement. Pausing at the door, the elves concentrated in the silence, the screams had faded now, the cavernous room no longer supporting the echo. Straining his hearing, Nibenor could just detect faint breathing. Looking to Logaron, Nibenor exchanged a nod in confirmation that he was not alone in hearing it. Logaron was the first onto the steps down and the others quickly followed.

For what seemed like hours, the elves delved into the gloom, guided more by their ears than sight, even once they decided to risk lighting torches to guide their way. Sheer, near perfect stone corridors, only marred by orc graffiti and the occasional long gash from a careless talon accompanied them into the quiet depths.

The troupe passed an underwater aquifer and gently wound their way around several fallen statues, ignoring the deep score marks in the floor as best they could, all the while it seemed they always were going down further into the earth. Steadily the sound of the breathing got closer before it ceased abruptly, giving way to a low groan ahead of them, just beyond another larger opening. Nibenor and Lagoron both slid their swords out of their sheaths as the others knocked arrows to their bows. As one the troupe entered the room and dove for cover, expecting to be incinerated immediately.

 **What are you?**

Harry lay still on the ground, someone, several someone's had entered the hall at a dead run then promptly thrown themselves behind various pieces of stonework after chucking several fiery torches in his general direction. From the brief glimpse he had gotten of them, they appeared to be the same people he had not long ago escaped from. Fear tugged at his mind as he slowly sat up, wincing at the bruises and generally feeling of ice in his body, he began to quietly edge his way to the far side of the room. Without the flaming brands he had a clear view of the hall, and could see the weapons the intruders had brought with them.

Nibenor could not see anything, even the eyes of the elves required light and the burning torches obscured just as much, if not more, than they illuminated. Something in the darkness was making a shuffling noise, far too small to be the dragon, which thankfully was absent. Realising that the drakes absence meant they could move freely, Nibenor issued the order, relying on Logaron to trust him:

"The drake isn't here, but something is on the far side of the hall, spread out, get the torches and find them, be cautious, it may be a yrch."

The language, unlike what had been spoken in his interrogation was foreign to Harry as he watched the group of eight slowly make their way across the empty expanse. Legs wobbling slightly beneath him, Harry shivered in the cold and closed his jacket around him, eyeing his altered hands with a sense of dulled disquiet. He doubted he could fight his way past them, and feeling as he was, another apparition would definitely splinch him, but he really did not have any inclination to be dragged back to be executed. As the interlopers collected their torches, Harry realised that they could not see nearly as well as he could. They had weapons yes, and Harry felt as if he could happily sleep for a week under several heating charms, but they could not see beyond their torches very far. Stifling a groan, Harry bent down and wrapped a taloned hand around a rock.

The thing in the dark was moving, Nibenor could hear faltering steps to the far right. The elves had spread out and assumed a cordon. If they could trap it, they would be able to deal with it without much risk. Fingering the hilt of his blade, he began to approach it, Logaron several steps to his left, torches held high, as the others fell behind and spread out, arrows strung, but not drawn and torches on the ground to their sides so as not to get in the way. Something whooshed gently passed his ear and a meaty thud next to him forced him to turn. Logaron had dropped his torch to clutch at his face. Nibenor caught sight of a bloody stone at Logarons feet before a wordless cry and a black mass slammed into Logaron who went down with a grunt, sword clattering to the ground. Unable to see what was going on, Nibenor rushed to his friend/captains aid as the elves behind him realised the uselessness of their bows and wavered uncertanly.

His target was down, and the torch extinguished in moments. Harry hadn't meant to knock the mans head on the floor so hard but found it hard to feel guilty if it meant he wasn't about to be stabbed. Scrambling for the doused torch as the blade was closer to the rapidly closing others, Harry threw himself away from the wild stab and hauled himself to his feet, the former torch held like a club. Picking an easier target than the one who had tried to stab him, Harry rushed one of the bowmen, kicking his lit torch across the room as he did so. He was panting with the effort of running and his arms briefly flared in pain and heat as he brought the makeshift club down and into the startled bowman's side. Unexpectedly, the bowman was flung several feet to the side and Harry had to stop himself from swiping at empty air. Unable to pause, Harry spun himself around to block the furious down-stroke of the swordsman he'd run from.

Nibenor brought his blade at the back of the assailant, only to have his blow blocked by the the thick wood of Logarons torch. Again he brought the blade down in a flurry of quick strikes, each time the torch blocked him, though he could nearly see the exhaustion in the bizarre face of his opponent, a face he half recognised. A normal green eye stared up at him, the other was a glowing red, its orange pupil slitted and seemingly filled with firelight. Much of the face was no longer covered in skin, scales covered much of his cheeks the gritted teeth appeared somewhat, sharper, than a human should have. Disturbed and convinced this was indeed his prior prisoner, Nibenor dropped his own torch and brought his blade into a powerful two-handed overhead strike. With visible effort the torch was brought up to block him again. As the two weapons made contact, Nibenor was taken aback at the strength in the shaking arms of the other combatant as he heaved Nibenor back into a stumble. A fist flashed out and caught him on the chin, as he fell, Nibenor felt the sharp pain of something breaking skin and caught sight of a clawed hand being withdrawn.

Harry brought his fist back, as he turned his attention to the sounds of drawing swords from the bowmen behind him. As they hesitated to attack him, he used the opportunity to collect the dropped sword that had nearly broken his club in half and overwhelmed his burning arms muscles with that last strike. A hand wrapped around his wrist and startled, Harry jerked back from the downed form of the swords owner. Prying the hand off of his wrist, Harry caught the mumbled English, and as he made to dash for the now clear path to the door, ice again blessedly but painfully creeping into his arms tried not to think about it:

"What are you?"

 **Breeside**

Gandalf the grey usually enjoyed the few times he was ever in the proximity of the shire. Whilst the wilds could be dangerous, the dunedain's near invisible presence kept the boundaries to the green fields and comely homes safe. Approaching the border town of Bree, however, Gandalf had run into several more thugs. Banditry, perhaps the lesser evil in these parts compared to what could be found in the wilds, had never been more in evidence to his eyes. Trudging the sodden and muddy path, Gandalf lent the reigns to his current horse. Content to let it make its way along the path as he huddled deeper into his cloak. Memories stirred of a time when such a thing as rain would bring no chill to his being, memories that Gandalf consciously overrode with his current task as the gates of Bree loomed out of the mist.

Passing through the wooden gate, Gandalf exchanged pleasantries and assurances to the nervous young man operating the latch and nudged him back to the warmth of his gatehouse. The streets, despite the rain had several people in attendance, all hurrying to be about their business. His spirits lifted slightly as he caught sight of a short, barefooted individual protectively cradling a steaming bowl from the rain making his way into a dwelling. The humour, however, was short-lived. Upon rounding the corner of the towns central street, on his way to the prancing pony, Gandalf spied the scenario he had been dreading since his journey here began. A form, shorter than a human but taller still than a hobbit was making its way to the pony, a sword pommel, entirely in the dwarven style jutting from the individuals belongings left no doubt in Gandalfs mind that he had found Thorin. The dwarf however, was not alone. Two rough looking, and obviously armed fellows were following the clearly alerted dwarf. Countenance now stern, his staff heavy in his hands, Gandalf dipped his hat further against the rain and hurried to arrive at the inn, before the dwarf, or his followers noticed him.

 **Chase**

Tired, cold and hungry was Harry's condition as he ran through the labyrinth, stolen blade cradled in his arms. His ability to see making the trip so much faster than his prior journey. Desperation lent speed to his flagging steps and the occasional glimpse of torchlight behind him lent strength to his aching legs. He was cold, so very cold, he was sure his chattering teeth was how his pursuers hadn't yet lost him and his breath came in puffs as his bare feet slapped the cold stone beneath him. Harry longed to feel warm, but was scared to reach for the only source of heat he could feel, nestled in his chest as if a warm coal had been dropped there He needed to find other people, people with food, people that knew about magic. Harry bounced around a corner and vaulted the raised channel to the water trough he had fallen into earlier as a shout, accompanied by an arrow whistled above his ear. Clamping a hand to the resultant stinging, fingers pressed into the blood, Harry revised his earlier thought. He needed to find people that would not try and kill him upon sight, the rest could happen after.

As he ran, Harry tried ignore the returning of the whispers that had previously plagued him upon his arrival. Left to his own thoughts as he simply ran, he could no longer distract himself from the words that he hoped didn't come from his own mouth:

 _Why do you run?_

The voice, whilst quiet, was brimming with anger. Gritting his teeth Harry hissed between laboured breaths back at it as he ascended yet another ramp:

"Shut up."

The anger briefly flared, though the scathing return in the alien voice contained a hint of puzzlement:

 _We are above them, above everything, they should flee from us._

A demand for silence on his lips, Harry nearly missed the doorway that opened back into the large hall on the surface. Bursting into the large room, Harry stopped abruptly, dazed by the change in lighting and trying to get his bearings. His stunned form was galvanised back into action at the sound of voices from the tunnel he had emerged from reached him. Flaming brands illuminated the pale faces of his pursuers and reflected from the long blades in their hands as they sprinted up the short ramp. Hefting the blade he had taken, Harry cast a forlorn look at the heavy stone of the broken doors resting either side of the opening. Seeing the number of the encroaching pursuers Harry sighed and made to run again when the previously quiet voice thundered through his mind with all the gentleness of a sledgehammer:

 _ **USE ME!**_

Heat, unbidden and unwanted flooded his body, flushing the icy pain in his limbs and replacing it with molten agony. A cry of pain tore itself from him as he dropped the blade and seized one of the broken doors and dragged it into its former place. Smoke wafted from his form and stung his eyes as the smell of cooking flesh reached him. Staggering to the other door, he heaved it across the short distance to the frame as the first of his pursuers approached the threshold.

Another cry, this time of desperation issued from Harry as he put all of his strength into flipping the stone door onto its side and allowed it to fall into place. Wide, blue eyes stared up at the descending slab in fear. Harry watched, the heat draining from him as the blonde sword wielding assailant was yanked back from the threshold by his fellows. With a resounding boom that rocked the floor, the door came to rest, a tremendous crack across its middle, marring the stone warriors that made up its front. Taking several shaky steps back from the sealed doorway to the discarded sword, Harry numbly sank to his knees and pulled the weapon to him as he listened to the muffled voices and banging fists until he was sure they weren't going to break free. Relief mixing with his exhaustion, he managed to regain his feet and slowly make his way to one of the many rents in the side of the walls.

 **Ruins of hope**

Kren Drar's fur wrapped feet were sore as he descended the scree embankment, Gundabad, finally before him. He and the two score men and women following him were descendants of one of the few surviving groups that had once called Carn Dum home. They had made the mountain journey eastward rather than continue to live under constant risk of Dunedain attack, hoping to be granted refuge as followers of the Witch King. Stopping at the bottom of the embankment, he stopped to look upon the structure that through glimpses of it from afar had kept the group members moving. It took several seconds for his mind to register the truth of what his eyes were showing him, and as he looked upon the destruction, he could hear the beginnings of dismay setting in:

"Some safe place this is, I don't see a single sentry, and should the walls have so many holes in them. Think whatever did this will put us up for the night?"

Mood already souring, Kren shot a dark look at the old woman who had come to stand at his left. Keig, the eldest surviving member of the troupe was looking over the broken stone walls, her gnarled hands wrapped tightly around her Blackwood staff as she lent into it for support. Kren bit back the urge to shout at the old woman, mindful of similar sentiments being echoed behind him. Instead, he wheeled on the others his hand resting meaningfully on the top of his axe, his dark tone as he conveyed his decision forcibly quietened the murmuring:

"We will stay here, its empty, there's bound to be something inside for us. Get a fire going, I want three sentries at all times on the towers."

As the group burst into activity, Kren turned back to Keig, and eyed her warily. The old-woman was waving her staff at the ruined fortress and from the chill he was feeling, knew she was chanting the black speech. Resisting the urge to heft his axe, though this time more out of fear than anger, Kren waited for the old hag to finish her incantation, the words crawling over his body like spiders:

" _ **Baduzg Izish Latob Zna, Baduzg Izish Latob Zna, Baduzg Izish Latob Zna.**_ "

As Keig finished, the air regained some of its warmth, though Kren knew he would be feeling ill for day's to come. Impatient and seriously wanting to be able to kill something, Kren barked his query of her:

"Well?"

Keig, jumped as if startled by his presence turned to him, her small frame visibly quivering as she answered him:

"Dragon, a dragon did this."

Kren immediately hefted his axe as he began to scan the skies, fear dominating his tall frame. Eye's roaming the surrounding mountaintops and sky he lowered his voice as he addressed the elderly witch, far too used to relying on her spells to doubt them now:

"Get everyone inside, no fire, no noise, I'll gut anyone who complains. Send the hunters to me, go."

Kren watched Keig sprint for the fortress despite her age, flagging everyone to follow her as she went. Kren turned slowly on the spot, heart in his throat as he again looked about him. A dragon, he had heard of Smaug, but that one had not been seen for many years as far as he knew. The tales of the beasts were legend amongst his people. Symbols of power, strength and cruelty.

Movement along the western walls of the fortress caught his eye. A small figure had just emerged from a hole in the wall and was slowly shuffling its way towards the northern end of the fortress. Several of Kren's men approached, without taking his eyes off of the bent double figure, Kren motioned them to follow him. Perhaps this hapless stranger would have some answers for him, Kren's eyes narrowed as he spied the naked blade that the stranger was carrying as he amended that thought. They'd better.

 **Joining up**

For the what felt like the seventh time since his trip, Harry again found himself facing down several people, all with weapons pointed at his face. He was cornered against the wall of the dilapidated fortress behind him, blade shakily pointing at these newcomers. Taking stock of the people surrounding him, they did not appear to be akin to the others who had been chasing him, if anything they seemed just as stunned to see him as he was to see them.

A heavy set, brutish looking man clad in dark furs and wielding an axe that would not have been out of place in Hagrid's hands reached out with the axes handle and gently pushed the quivering blade down to point at the ground. Unlike those he had been running from, this man and his friends seemed to not to want to kill him immediately, a thought which quelled the sensations of wariness within him. Harry allowed the blade to be drawn to the ground, once it softly touched the stones beneath him the man with the axe spoke to him in gruff English:

"I am Kren, of Angmar. Who are you, what are you doing here and why do you carry an elfblade? Half-man."

Shaking of the discomfort at being referred to as a half-man, and filing the word Angmar away for the future, Harry, seeing no immediate hostility did his best to appear non-threatening as he answered:

"I am Harry, of England. I'm here seeking shelter, but the, elves, are chasing me, I took this blade from one of them and trapped them within."

Harry's hesitance in using the word 'elves' did not go unnoticed by the shifting of the group before him, this was soon discarded however by the reaction the last part of his statement elicited. Especially from Kren, who's hurried orders to the rest of the group cemented him as the leader in Harry's mind:

"Tharg, Magg, Asten, get everyone ready to move. A dragon, now elves, trapped or not, we shall find no sanctuary here. Traki, get Keig, get her to look over the half-man, you will stay with them."

Shocked at the sudden turnabout and the alacrity with which the group dispersed, Harry was unprepared when Kren reached forward and seized him by the wrist in a rough, very strong grip. Startled at the suddenness of the contact, Harry coughed violently as a plume of black smoke erupted from his mouth as his interloper reacted through a surge of anger that set Harry's blood thrumming. Kren, taken aback by the smoke cloud, let go and stepped back hurriedly. Shrewd eye's assessed his retching form and Harry couldn't help freezing as Kren's gruff voice penetrated through the sound of his coughing:

"Harry, of England, I have seen many half-men, but never before a half-drake. If I take you from this place, will you help me get my people to safer lands?"

Looking at the blurry form of Kren through watery eye's Harry could only nod at him as he resisted the snarl that tried to crawl up his throat at the implied conditions. A curt nod in return was his answer as Kren turned to look back towards the entrance of the fort. A sensation of spiders crawling over him prompted Harry to look as well, Traki, the man who Kren had sent was making his way back, followed by an elderly woman who lent heavily on a black staff. Kren's voice carried over to him as visible discomfort flitted across his face.

"Keig, knows the old ways, she will decide if your word has worth. You will not harm her, or any of my people, or by the Witch-King I'll put my axe in that lizard eye of yours."


End file.
